


I don't fight like this with anybody else

by constantwilson



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Eventual Smut, Is it obvious I wrote this while tipsy, M/M, Maxwell is an old sassy bisexual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, They're both trans fucc u, This fic is an excuse to hurt wilson and then have him bottom and I'm not sorry, Wilson is a twink, non sexy tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28725861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constantwilson/pseuds/constantwilson
Summary: They've had thousands of these meaningless arguments, on worse days.Wilson and Maxwell, always at each other's throats.Wilson barely has time to realize how he really feels before he falls victim to another one of the Constant's painful traps.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Kudos: 24





	I don't fight like this with anybody else

**Author's Note:**

> Did I mention I can ship anything? Love is beautiful, and so is hurting my sweet baby wilson. Thought id show I can be nice to maxwell too. He isn't bad in my book, but for the purpose of my other fic, he is perfectly evil. Here, he is just a sad old man with a crush. Hope you enjoy my favorite kind of fic- hurting wilson

"F-for the la-last time- it was regular damn ink, it _sh-sh-should_ have been fuel, but it was _ink."_

"Why in the name of _Them_ was there ink in the blasted machine?!"

"I don't _fucking_ know you- you y- for all I know it was _you_ and your stupid, stupid book!"

Maxwell made a dramatic sound, clearly offended Wilson would implicate something so stupid.

"I am _entirely_ offended you would _even think_ to implicate me in a matter so idiotic, especially when you are the sole reason for the damn explosion in the first place!"

The taller man snapped, speaking lower, anger seeping further into his words.

Wilson's red face twisted into a comical expression of exasperated anger, perfectly tying together the scene for a few fellow survivors who were unfortunate enough to be nearby. 

One of the audience marched up to the pair of squabbling men, ending the match for the time being.

"Will you boys get over that blasted accident with that science machine? You both agreed to gather wood and reeds today. Is this," and here, the woman gestured about, "anything like gathering?"

"Kind of…"

"No, Mrs. Wickerbottom…"

It was near impossible to tell which one had said what, so the older woman sighed and pointed in the direction of a path, towards two conjoined lands, one made of swamp, and one covered in birch.

The two men huffed and stalked away, barely getting outside the walls of camp before restarting their bellowed bickering.

* * *

Wilson listened to Maxwell's distant chopping as he waded through the swamp. The one place Max refused to go. Of course. Yet it would have been a nice vacation if not for the impending danger; although the swamp had been mapped out, and there were safe paths to much needed material everywhere, that knowledge wasn't enough to quell the rising anxiety. 

Wilson chose to fan the fire in another direction. He trudged on and grumbled, revisiting the argument from earlier.

"That... stupid old man a-and his stupid book, always getting in the w, in the way, distracting, that's what he is, w-with his stupid, slender limbs, he looks like an old tree. He sounds like, like one too. He must be more a-a-annoying than WX!"

Wilson bent down, and tore a bundle of reeds from the ground with a humph. 

"Pretends to be the, th-the epitome of perfection but I know h-how loud he snores at night, he dr, drools on his mat and he k-k-keeps putting it next to mine, why do you have to be, be that close?! "

The ground below Wilson's quick, sharp strides began to tremble as he marched, but he was too distracted already to recognize the signs of danger.

"I- I don't even like him. I don't, why would I like him? What's to, to like? Sure his suit is dapper, but he looks- well he looks..."

An image came to mind, of Maxwell's soft face, eyes half lidded, lips parted, hair mussed up from sleep. A peachy blush tinged both of their faces as they realized how close their mats were.

A switch flipped on in Wilson's mind.

"Fuck. _Fuck._ I _don't_ like him. I love-"

With a rumble and a spray of mud, Wilson's epiphany was cut short. A huge, spiked tentacle rose before him, blocking his way forward. He froze, overwhelmed with so many things, too many, _too much-_

Time choked to a halt as the powerful muscle swung itself down upon its prey. Wilson sucked in a sharp breath, throwing himself back. To his complete surprise and horror, the tentacle readjusted, moving to grab him by the arm. It twisted around his hand, wrapping his limb up to the elbow. 

Wilson growled. His glove was no longer visible under the grotesque, pulsing appendage. The slime dripping on his trouser cuff had eaten away at the fabric, and he was sure the glove would end up the same. 

Clothing was hard to get, fabric was harder to create. It was a chore, and one Wilson wasn't about to do for the second time in a day. He had his outfit, he stuck with it. Everyone did.

Anger bubbled up and Wilson attempted to pull his arm out, tugging and wrenching with garbled growls, voice cracking as he swore. He kicked, punched with his free arm, even resorted to biting before he realized two things.

First, the slime had somehow gotten stronger as he scuffled. His arm was burning like it was stuck in flame.

Second- the tentacle was cinching down on his arm, showing no signs of slowing.

For a peaceful time it was just bearable, no worse than getting stitches. Wilson used the precious calm to listen hard. Maxwell had to be nearby, he had to be.

The sound of chopping wood sounded like the most beautiful music in the world, like the soft bubbling as he boiled things for experiments, like Chester hopping along behind him.

Like Maxwell snoring.

Wilson could have cried. He opened his mouth to shout- 

And shrieked with such force he felt his throat tear.

* * *

Maxwell tried not to think about Wilson while he worked. He tried not to think about the man most of the time, and most of the time he failed. It didn't matter.

It was so obvious Wilson hated him. How could anyone not? He'd trapped them all, and still hadn't found the way out.

The trees fell faster as not only clones swung their shadowy axes, but their master too. Soon all Maxwell thought about was the next swing.

It was bliss, ignorant, beautiful bliss. 

He would have stayed for hours if not for a terrible wail that rang out from afar. The tortured sound caused all parts of him to freeze, even the clones.

_Wilson was hurting._

Maxwell felt his heart drop into the void, and his eyes grew sharp as steel as he broke into a scrambled sprint, making a beeline for his scientist. The shadowy copies of him swapped their axes for swords, and rushed alongside him.

* * *

Wilson roared out a sobbing scream as the bones in his hand were crushed, slowly, excruciating slowly. He was on the ground now, only supported by shaking knees and a single hand. 

Whatever this was, it was new, sent to fuck with him and his family. 

The only good thing was he was the first, therefore, hopefully only, to fall for it. A smile teetering on insane crept up Wilson's cheeks, salty tears stinging the dry, cracked skin on his lips. He wheezed out a dry chuckle, coming back to the situation with great reluctance. The tentacle was still crushing him.

His arm went next, the bigger bone held out as long as it could, it was tougher than his small fingers, but it snapped and shattered all the same, Wilson watched in awe as his bone poked out. The sounds he made were muffled to his ears now, as if his head were wrapped in a tentacle too.

He almost smiled again at the thought- _my eyes would burn right out of my head-_ until more terrible limbs burst from the ground, flinging mud and blood everywhere.

One wrapped around his waist, and began to squeeze, another around his leg to do the same, while the others began to whip about, surrounding him like the blades of a blender. More cracking of bone broke through the cotton in his ears, till Wilson was back in the moment, yelling as loud as his body allowed.

A few spines cut through the air like falling shards of glass, gashing easily into pale skin. Wilson couldn't stop screaming long enough to breathe. Every part of him was being torn open, leaving him weaker each time. 

They kept cutting him, slicing into his back and stomach. The world spun and stormed around him. Nearly passing out from the pain and the noise, Wilson heaved until he threw up blood, then kept going, choking on air. Desperate sobs were all his throat allowed anymore. The predicament he found himself in became clear.

No one was coming. He was going to die alone, again.

Wilson hung his head and wept, letting himself drift down, and away.

And then a noise that blew the sounds of chopped wood to pieces rang through his mind, like a beacon of hope, a lighthouse shining in unsure waters.

Maxwell was calling for him. 

Wilson clawed his way out of his head, out of the grasp of death towards his anchor. It hurt like nothing before, like hell itself was made to burn forever inside his own sorry body, but he fought till he was back, on the ground, looking up at worried eyes and a bloody, mud splattered face. 

And Maxwell was crying.

Wilson's face contorted in horror, then he giggled madly, not noticing the bubbles of blood forming at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't move his arm, and the second he recognized the fact, his body let him feel everything.

Once he started screaming he couldn't stop, not for Maxwell's frantic pleading, not for the blood frothing from his mouth, blocking up his throat, nothing could end this. Everything, this pain, the feeling of his bones poking through his skin like needles, his hand, his lungs failing, this was everything now-

Wilson closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

Maxwell howled with premature grief as the body in his hands gave up to unconsciousness. He ran faster than he'd ever thought possible. Possible didn't matter right now. Possible could piss off. Wilson needed him back at camp, and fast. The boy was losing so much blood, and his poor arm and leg were mangled beyond recognition. 

Wilson whimpered in his slumber while Maxwell sprinted on. He went faster, cursing and ignoring the tears blurring his vision. 

_Wilson won't die while I'm around, ever again._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There will be some beautiful trans smut happening in the next few chapters. I will update tags when I have time- uploaded from me phone rn!


End file.
